X-Men: Copy Cat
by BecauseItsALittleHumid
Summary: Iris doesn't believe in fate. She's not sure that she believes in anything really. But when two young men knock at her door and offer her a position in their superhero faction, she might just buy into it. A story of a woman caught in a life she felt belonged to someone else, finding her feet with her mutant allies. The story of my OC navigating the world of the x-men.


Iris was used to strange men knocking on her door. Any unwanted guests she could usually get rid of quite easily. Even the Jehovah's witnesses were met with a painted smile and a firmly shut door in their faces. But something about the two men waiting behind her shabby yellow door made her pause. Her hand floated above the handle, quivering slightly with what she felt emanating from the other side. She couldn't remember feeling anything like this before. It gave her a headache, more so than the hangover she was suffering. The ice in her gin and tonic clattered horribly in her glass so she set it hastily on the sideboard. She bent her neck to the peephole to confirm her suspicions that yes, there were two young and grave looking men standing at her door.

"Miss Montgomery, might we come in?" the shorter one spoke. She jumped back from the peephole. How did they know her name? That was her first thought but it struck her that there were not many people in Manhattan who didn't know her name. But two men knocking the door at the ungodly hour of 9 am would give any girl cause to hesitate. Only one man she knew would send two goons to her house and anyone sent by _him _she was not inclined to play hostess to.

"That bastard," she hissed before fixing her silk robe and opening the door. "You must forgive me I am in absolutely in no fit state for guests, darling, I have the most outrageous hangover."

"We just want to talk," the taller one muttered. Looking at the two of them, they seemed chalk and cheese and yet startlingly similar. They might even be brothers if she squinted her eyes. They were both pleasant to look at. The tall dark and dreamy one had that distant, cold demeanour that Iris found endlessly charming. Yet there was a kindness to the shorter ones eyes, and a charm in the half smile that sat loosely on his mouth. Still, dashing good looks aside, that bastard wasn't getting his money today, or any day.

"Look, you two can just run right along back to Eddie. I haven't got his bloody money and even if I did, it was _my _money. The bastard lost my mink coat in a poker game. Mink, darling! That 500 dollars was mine by right you know, and you can tell the bastard I said that. If anymore of you goons show up at my place uninvited I'll-"

"Eddie... didn't send us." said the shorter.

Iris dared to open the door an inch wider. "No? Then who did?"

"We came to discuss a particular talent of yours. Might we come in."

Iris gave them one last look up and down before finally opening the door fully.

Her place was a mess, it always was. Three suitcases lay open and full in the living area and her kitchen was covered in empty bottles of champagne, gin and whiskey. A bunch of Happy New Year balloons sat in the corner like a strange house plant and the coffee table was so full of magazines and glasses and coffee cups that there was barely an inch left for anything else. She through open the fire escape to try and let some air in but she knew that it would do little to help.

"I told you I was in no fit state for guests," she said, swiping up her gin and tonic and taking a seat on the large plush chair that sat opposite the sofa to match. They were the only pieces of furniture that seemed to belong. The two men sat down and looked around uneasily.

"God! Would you like a drink?" she said, springing up to her feet.

"No, no thank you."

"What have you got?" said the taller. The shorter looked at him disapprovingly.

"Well anything really. Gin, whiskey, I've a bottle of port that I swiped from that bastard Eddie," she said moving to the kitchen.

"Whiskey, thank you."

"My father was a whiskey drinker," she chimed, popping open the bottle and glugging it into a small square glass. "He was quite a horrible man, once he got going. A darling when he was sober. Not that that was often mind you, but whiskey still makes me think of him. Are you sure I can't get you anything? I've some tea in the cupboard."

He smiled, genuinely, but shook his head all the same, "Really, I think we better just get down to brass tacks."

Iris took her seat and watched them. There was something about them, an aura... a vibe, or so the hippies would call it. She'd only felt something like that once before. The girl in her home town. Matches they all called her. Matches was her first kiss, a dangerous peck behind the supermarket. Iris believed she might have been slightly in love with matches, or as in love as a 13 year old can be. But Matches lost her temper one night and burned her whole house down, family included. That same little radar in the back of Iris' head buzzed in the presence of these two men as it did from her. She took a cigarette from the coffee table and lit it with a snap of her fingers. Her lasting gift from Matches.

The taller man arched his eyebrow and the shorter one smiled.

"Quite the party trick," said the taller.

"It's excellent. You'll fit in perfectly. My name is Charles Xavier, this is my associate Erik Lehnsherr. We would like to offer you a job."

She took of draw of the cigarette and tilted her head. "I already have a job, darling."

Charles looked disgruntled, "It's quite important work I assure you."

"I'm terribly sorry Charles, darling, but I made a promise to myself never to join any churches, brotherhoods or cults. Not after the last time." She stood to pour herself another gin.

"It's not a cult. We are a special government faction working to stop a war. Unfortunately that's all I can say at this time." he turned in his chair to watch her as she stood in the kitchen. There was an all too familiar look in his eye, one that tried desperately not to look at her bare legs. She rolled her eyes and took another draw.

"That does sound important," she said, clinking a handful of ice into the glass. "Far too important for the likes of me."

"How did you know we were mutants," Erik said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Iris snorted, "What?"

"Mutants. Different. You showed us your power freely, you knew we were the same."

"Christ, don't tell me you're calling yourselves mutants. How very self-deprecating."

"It's a... working title," Charles sighed. "You can sense it, can't you. You can tell if someone is a mutant or not. Like an internal radar. That is quite the talent, very useful," he got up out of his chair, beaming.

Iris watched him uneasily, the ash of her cigarette falling on the floor. She cursed and swept it away with her foot.

"How could you possibly have guessed that?" she asked, stubbing out the cigarette and necking the rest of her drink.

"I am telepathic, my ability allows me to read thoughts."

Iris' eyes widened and she hastily retreated back to the living room, "You stay the hell out of my head from now on."

"Of course, I would never do it without your permission."

She didn't trust him. Did this mean she'd have to get one of those crazy tinfoil hats?

Charles chuckled, "No tinfoil hats, please."

"So, you did just read my thoughts," she said smugly as she walked to her bedroom. Charles mouth fell agape and he made to follow but stopped abruptly when he saw the silk robe laying outside her bedroom door.

"That was the last time, I assure you," he called.

"Why don't I believe you?" she sighed as she pulled on her black dress, grabbed her purse, brushed her teeth and put on her lipstick.

"I sincerely promise that it won't happen again. So, will you take us up on our offer?" he called.

She pursed her lips as she considered it. She wasn't even sure what it was, but something in her gut told her these were good men, honest men. Even if one had just invaded her thoughts without so much as a hello. That irked her terribly. She hated the idea of someone inside her head, seeing things, knowing things. It was none of his goddamn business and he would need to learn that. She came out of the bedroom finally, grabbing a pair of sunglasses from the kitchen counter as she did.

"There's just one thing you should know about me before you start prepping the welcome party. Zip me up, would you darling?" She spun so that Charles could fumble with her zipper on her lower back.

"And what's that?" he said, his voice a pitch higher.

"I'd like to show you what I can really do," was all she said before she held his face and kissed him deeply. She heard him gasp in shock but pulled back before he could return the kiss in earnest. As she did, she felt that familiar rush in her bones, that twitch in her blood that happened the night she kissed Matches. As it faded however, she heard whispers in every corner, laughter, screaming, agony and joy. It rose to an almighty crescendo before it was silenced, and then there was only his voice, then Erik's crept in.

"Oh my god..." Charles mumbled.

Iris chuckled, "Oh my god, indeed. So you're CIA? That is rather exciting. Taking down an evil villain sounds _very_ Hollywood. Count me in, darling." Images swam in her mind of a man, a hollow dark shell of a man and his followers. A woman made of diamonds, one that looked like the devil and another who could create hurricanes, like she could with fire.

"What did she do, Charles," Erik said, concern laced his voice.

"She took my power, I think."

"What?" Erik stood aggressively.

Iris put out her hands in defence, "Alright calm down, you still have your party trick, I haven't taken anything. I've copied it. That's what I can do. I mirror people's powers. The only other one I've got is the fire thing but telepathy, that's a completely different ball game, one I can't wait to play," she winked. Charles looked mildly horrified.

"So you can take anyone's powers..." Erik said.

"Not take, copy."

"Was the kiss entirely necessary?" Charles said, his demeanour calming.

"Don't pretend like you didn't enjoy it, I can read your mind now, remember?" His cheeks flushed red. That would teach him to read her mind. "And yes," she continued, "It seems to be the only way I can do it. Maybe it has something to do with the intimacy. Or exchanging of bodily fluids, I don't know but it has worked so far on the two _mutants_ I've kissed. God that is a horrible name, can't we change it?"

"I'm afraid it has stuck," Charles said as a hand brushed back his thick brown hair. He looked to Erik, who simply rolled his eyes.

"Come on," he said, "We can't afford to waste time."

Erik made for the door but Iris didn't follow. The two men turned and waited.

"You can't very well expect me to up sticks and follow you to a secret government base with only the clothes on my back," she said, folding her arms as she did.

Charles nodded, "Quite right, pack a bag of essentials and we'll meet you at the coffee shop downstairs."

Iris was about to begin packing when something in her head felt like it jolted.

_"Only the essentials, Iris," _came Charles' voice. She looked up but he was speaking quietly to Erik as they shut the door.

_"Another facet of my party trick. I'm not reading your mind, don't worry. We'll meet you down stairs." _

Iris stood dumb in the middle of her apartment. It was a strange meeting, one she didn't exactly have time to process. All she knew was that her radar was going off like an alarm around the two of them. They were most definitely powerful. She thought about how Erik felt, his power was different to Charles. It was like she could taste iron when she felt it. Charles was different, his felt like the whisper of a breeze, there and not there. It felt strange to have someone inside her head like that and yet, his presence was oddly comforting. She found herself quite drawn to Charles. It was nice to know that she wasn't alone.

* * *

Erik and Charles sat patiently at a window seat of the coffee shop below Miss Montgomery's apartment. They'd ordered two espressos. A good night's sleep had been few and far between since the hunt for Shaw started.

"Is it really wise to invite her into this?" Erik began.

Charles looked up from his coffee and frowned, "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Her abilities... Charles she can take people's powers. She has yours, how long before she takes another?"

"She copies it, I haven't lost my abilities."

"That's not the point," Erik said, taking a last sip of his coffee and studying its remnants, "She can do anything, Charles. She could take all the power she wanted and there'd be nothing we could do to stop her."

Charles hesitated a moment. Her ability was remarkable and the thought had crossed his mind. As it stood she seemed innocent enough. She was careless, smart, hard. Even in the brief moment he got inside her head he could see the walls she'd built and yet... there was a willingness to tear them down.

"We'll keep an eye on her," he said finally.

Erik scoffed and shook his head, "You most certainly will."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're psychic, Charles, you know exactly what it means," he sneered.

Charles leaned in to whisper, "She kissed me to show us her abilities, that's all."

Erik arched his brow, "She kissed you because she saw the way you were looking at her. You're a soft touch Charles, and she knows it. Loose it or she'll take advantage of you."

"I wasn't-" he lowered his voice, "I wasn't looking at her. She's a recruit. This is a professional relationship. I am taking this mission very seriously and I will not jeopardise it."

A thud sounded at the cafe door where Iris dropped one of her suitcases. She held another smaller one under her arm and had an apple firmly clenched in her mouth. She shrugged in defeat took a bite when the second case fell. Charles stood immediately to help her.

"What did I say about the essentials," he smiled, picking up the larger of the two cases.

"Well, these are essentials. Mostly. I mean, from what I saw in your mind, there are plenty of good looking people running around the CIA these days and I want to look nice should I happen to meet any of them." She fixed her lipstick in her compact mirror before picking up her case.

Charles simply smiled and helped her pack her things into the car.

"You liked the Irish girl," she said, slamming she trunk and winking at him.

Charles felt himself blush as they climbed into the car. He made sure he was driving. Erik sat in the passenger seat with a disappointed grimace.

Iris lit up a cigarette as they took off into the stream of Manhattan traffic.

"So, tell me honestly, are you an outrageous Lothario, Charles?" she asked innocently.

"Give me strength..." Erik sighed.

Charles fumbled for an answer, "I don't know what you mean."

"Well, you like the CIA agent don't you? Megan, Myra-"

"Moira," Charles supplied.

"That's it! You liked her and I can't really blame you. She has the most beautiful nose. What I would give to have a nose like that. Lovely dark eyes too, I'm afraid mine are boring old blue."

Erik looked wearily out of the window.

"You prefer my legs though, don't you Charlie boy," Iris said flatly, her voice taking on a rougher tone that was a far cry from her usual refinement. It sounded more natural.

"Excuse me?!" Charles gasped, almost swerving to the other side of the road.

"Oh it's quite alright, Charlie, you're not the first man to ogle me and, unfortunately, I doubt you'll be the last."

"Iris, if you're reading my thoughts then I must ask you to stop."

"Oh it won't happen again, _I can assure you." _

She was doing it on purpose. He realised then that this little tirade had been for the sole purpose of embarrassing him.

"See? How do you like having your thoughts laid bare in front of a stranger?"

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel but said nothing more. The rest of the journey was uncomfortably silent.


End file.
